MY SECOND HOST FAMILY

Moving to my second host family was like going to another country. They were, in fact, another ethnic mixture, Tajik and Uzbek, from the country directly east of Tajikistan.  Russian only figured as a second language for my host mother, Mukharram, and as a third language for her grand daughter, Shahzodeh.
Here they are, together with her older daughter, Shahsanam, and adopted son, Umarjon.

Umarjon, Shasanam, Mukharram, Shahzodeh

As it turned out I had been christened Shahzadeh (princess in farsi ) by my language teacher that summer, so both Shahzodeh (princess in tajik) and I felt like princesses for the summer. She felt privileged when she could spend time in her grandmother's villa and I was treated at first like a
royal guest in their home.  As the summer wore on I began to feel as if I were a part of the family.



Here was the typical city villa , rooms centered
around the hiyatt or courtyard; one large living-
sleeping room for the parents; a separate one for all the children; my private room  and  separate bath and toilet.   In summer they made use of a small kitchen open to the courtyard and we all ate on a raised table (takht) spread out sideways Roman style or cross-legged Eastern style..

No, I don't want to come to dinner now!!

Summertime was for living outdoors in the  courtyard.  The kids skated and bicycled and generally ran amok any time of the day or night.   Ramadan began on July 8th as the hottest days of summer began. Because of the daytime heat,  playtime and visits from neighbors and other family members stretched late into the night. Dinner began just after sundown and stretched out until the last of the visitors left or the last television special ended and I staggered off to my room and gave thanks for all the sets of earplugs I had thought to bring with me.  Often I seemed to forget about school the next morning.

Here is a quick shot of a typical dinner - plov made

The toes at the top are not mine

of turmeric rice with onions, carrots, eggplant sometimes and bits of meat atop it all. We had separate salad plates, kamak or sour sour cheese, wonderful servings of flat bread and most often bowls of soup. Notice the large spoon against the plov plate. That was for yours truly, who was not adept at using my fingers to scoop out servings for herself.  Dessert was copious amounts of melon and watermelon and compote and a delicious juice made from the fruits of their sour cherry tree. If Sherali, Muharram's husband who worked as an ice-cream truck driver, had extra, there would be ice cream

Courtyard with open water drain running across

all around .
This meal was for the five of us, although Umarjon
spent before-dinner time snitching candy and grand slices of melon, so he ate very little dinner, unless we all watched and tried to curb his bad habits.
It seemed to me because we all ate from  a common dish and so were all aware of who was eating what, we tended to eat less.  At least I did.
No one took more than they were entitled to eat.
The children definitely waited till they saw that their elders had enough.  
As a guest of honor I was periodically prodded by Muharram to eat, eat and then eat some more.
I so wished I could fill my plate, but I didn't have "my own plate".